


Tasty Loki

by Weaselwoman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: AU, Babies, Cannibalism, Gen, Good Frigga, Jötunn Loki, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Really? - Freeform, Well-intentioned Thor, combine the previous two, good odin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-11-12 06:31:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaselwoman/pseuds/Weaselwoman
Summary: The wars between the People and the other guys got very unpleasant. Odin is trying to fix things, and he may just have found the magic baby who can help....if he survives long enough





	1. Odin

The sign on the door said “Jotunn-Land Foster Care,” and showed a laughing diapered blue child. Odin sighed before walking in.  He was a proud man of the People, once tribal lord and now Home-King, as they knit their empire together. But much had been lost in both Jotunn Wars, and he sought now for resources that were scarce in both realms, and needed in his. Magic.

 

The First Jotunn War had been devastating. The Jotunns, long thought to be a friendly neighbor, were inspired to take over the Homeland in deepest winter, when the People hunkered down in their separate villages, their separate winter camps (a long tradition meant to spare any hunting ground from over-exploitation); one by one the camps had been swallowed up by parties of Jotunn raiders. Odin was a child then; his family and comrades burned out from their village, escaping into the woods, in the snow and cold; and many had not survived. It took an alliance of the People with the Van to counter the Jotunn magic Fimbul-Winter, to bring back springtime, and to save his Homeland.

In the Second Jotunn War, the People could apply the hard-won lessons from the First War, notably that the key to stopping the Jotnar was to stop their magicians. A Jotunn magician could channel the magic of the land, could bring cold, rain, snow, prolonged winter; and Jotunns were most comfortable fighting under those conditions, in their hot and impenetrable bilgesnipe armor. The rare, lightly-protected magicians usually accompanied troop leaders. (This was because magicians traded sides at will in Jotnar internecine conflicts, and were considered sacrosanct in those struggles; a leader watched his magician to make sure her luck stayed with him, and would not harm a hostile one who might in the future join him.) So the first move of the People, when they attacked Jotunn-land, was to slay as many magicians as they could find. Odin had lost an eye in that war; had gained a young wife in placating his Vanir allies.

If the First War had been overwhelming for the People, the Second had been even harder for the Jotnar. Whole cities, once mighty, had been razed; most of the young men and women, gone to war, had not returned. In the end, the old, the young and the maimed were left to defend the Jotunn-Home-Cities. Afterwards, a select group of the People handled the recovery of Jotunn-land, trading cash and effort for raw materials the People needed; stripping Jotunn-land bare in the process. It was not recovery but exploitation.

Exploitation of the Jotnar as well as their land: Jotunns were not allowed into many professions they had held before; were only hired as expendable laborers (at very low wages). Jotunn centers of higher learning were closed, then all schools were closed to them. The fast-growing entrepreneurial class of the People included those born in the Homeland, those born in Jotunn-land, and their half-bred children. Jotnar were allowed to be servants, even bed-servants, but were not permitted to own land or structures, to have a voice in political assemblies, or, eventually, to walk alone at night, even with a permit signed by one of the People. Many Jotnar still lived in the crannies of the cities, supplementing their bare living allowances by scrounging relics, dealing in vices, or even selling their selves or their children into slavery. The People tried to keep track of them all (at least the living ones), especially those Jotunns who slinked into the cities from the wild.

So the Jotnar suffered, and the People prospered. But now, a generation after their success in the War and their occupation of Jotunn-land, the one resource the People needed was less-favorable weather. Van magicians could turn the world into springtime, but they could not turn springtime off. There were no Jotunn magicians left to provide countermanding winter to Vanir Spring; to turn flowers into fruit and green sprouts into harvestable grain. The deer once born grew no older; there was no fall rut to breed more deer. The Land had no summer, no winter, no autumn harvest; only eternal spring. The People lived on birds and sprouts, flowers and insects. They starved, surrounded by beauty.

Only Home-King Odin himself, with his own paltry magic, could find the sought-for magicians after crossing the river to Jotunn-land. But in the civilized, People-controlled cities, there were no magicians to be found. Perhaps some were left in inaccessible fastnesses in the wild mountains; perhaps he would spend the rest of his life hunting rumors and phantoms while the People starved. This quest was not the King’s only responsibility, after all, and it was time to return to Odin’s own Fort-city.

 

Odin walked into the foster-care center with a heavy heart. It was time to give up his quest and come home. He owed his wife, Frigga, a magnificent present for the difficult birthing of Thor, his heir, years before; perhaps these cheery children would inspire him?

The proprietor greeted him in the front room, then showed him to other rooms where pen-fuls of well-fed blue children were separated by age. They all had smiles as they waved around soft toys, Odin saw; the rooms resounded with their happy laughter.

“The oldest one is—what, five?” Odin asked. Thor would be five soon.

“Oh, we can’t keep them that long,” the other man said. “The demand is too high.”

“Still…”

“What are you here for?”

“Oh, I’ve been away for too long, and my wife has earned a very special present,” Odin said.

“Very special?”

“Yes.”

“You have a price range in mind?”

“Price isn’t relevant,” Odin assured him.

“Then I may have something special; just arrived.” The owner of the shop led Odin through a previously closed door; down a sterile hallway with glass windows into food-preparation areas and the like; and finally through a rough door into a back storage area. There was a wooden pen, like a high-sided tray, lined with straw, and holding a sleeping, naked baby.

Odin looked at the boy—yes, a boy; longish black hair already, blue skin, closed eyes with black lashes, and raised welts covering his skin. “A hunter just brought this in. A wild Jotunn.”

“Can I see?” Odin asked, and the proprietor lifted the boy up by his armpits, turned him back to Odin, then back around; awakened red eyes stared at Odin alertly.

“Still small, I’m afraid; would you like him prepared?”

“No, thank you; we live days away from here.”

“Fattened up, at least?”

Odin barely listened, looking for familiarity in the raised welts. _Magelines_ , they were called. He remembered the Jotunn Mage King, Laufey of the Forest, who had taken his eye in one of the early fights in the Second War; perhaps these lines were similar.

“Well? I have others interested in him. The mayor has a banquet…”

“No, no need. I will take him now, as he is. And a blanket.”

 

Here is the other thing about the Jotunn Wars: in the privations of the First War, the starving soldiers of the People decided that the Jotnar were not real People as they were. Instead, it was acceptable behavior to eat Jotunns when no other food presented itself. The second discovery, made soon after and refined over time: that Jotunns were _delicious_.

Males past puberty developed a ripe flavor, an easily acquired taste; the women were more delicate on the palate, and mages, most of whom were women, tasted of truffles. Jotunn children were more exquisite still, the younger and fatter the better.

Odin had finally found himself a mage. If he could keep the child alive long enough, surrounded by the long-toothed People, the Asgardians—it might grow up to help Odin save his realm.

 

A/N: Inspirations: Swift’s “Modest Proposal.” Famous cannibals on ranker.com (Albert Fish, notably, who mailed his recipes to the parents of children he’d stolen and eaten). The Donner party, some of whom were said to be addicted to cannibalism.  Sawney Bean and his family. The Alferd Packer Restaurant and Grill at the University of Colorado Boulder.

Also, slavery in America. Anyone who considers another person “subhuman.”

Several American Native tribes, among others, named themselves was “The People” or “The Real People,” for instance the Comanches in S.C. Gwynne’s Empire of the Summer Moon (they weren’t cannibals, but a neighboring tribe was).

Ursula LeGuin, in _Vaster Than Empires and More Slow_ : “You have not thought things through.”

 


	2. Across the Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby gets a name.

Odin took his charge, blanket-wrapped and tucked into his left arm beneath his cloak, into the warm common room of the Bridgewater Inn.  He yelled out to a serving man, “Prepare my bill; I leave tonight.” Climbed the stairs to his private room—the best one, of course—, swirled off the cloak, and laid his bundle on the rush-mattressed bed. No one on this side of the river could see into the room, so he left the window open.

Using both hands, he unwrapped the bundle in its threadbare blanket. The boy was awake, open-mouthed, but silent. Odin picked him up and held him in the fresh air coming through the window. Odin put him down naked on the bed. “You need a name, young man,” he said quietly; “but first…” He doubted he could find milk.  _This_ corner of the blanket wasn’t too dirty; Odin opened his flask, poured mead onto it, and twisted the wet area into a ball-shape.

_Odin’s mother had raised Jotunns. How hard could it be?_

“Here,” he said to the baby. “Suck on this, for now.”

Odin’s own magic was a bare fraction of that his mother had possessed; and the bulk of it was spent, in Asgard, in trying to hasten the summer in strategic parts of his realm. But Odin had not been in Asgard in days, so perhaps he could use what he had for a different spell.

The baby was sucking his mead-sop with closed eyes. Odin closed his eye, tracked a thread of his own magic, _pulled_ it across the Rainbow Bridge, and, opening his eye, gathered it into the sop. “This will protect you, until Winter takes you for Her own.” As the baby sucked, its skin turned pink, the color spreading from the mouth outwards, the raised lines fading into smooth skin.

_I need a name to anchor the spell_ , Odin thought. An old name would do; one that belonged to a lost companion.

“Loki.”

The child’s black hair, the black lashes had not changed; the baby’s eyes, opening, had reversed from brilliant all-over red to white-rimmed green.

“Loki,” Odin repeated. The child focused on him.

“Loki.” A third time. “My son.”

The baby—Loki—laughed.

“So be it!” As Odin completed the spell.

 

Odin found a better cloth in his room in which to wrap the boy, Loki. The rest of his belongings were tumbled into a pack; then he put on his pack, his hat, his cape; grabbed the boy and his walking staff. Loki continued to suck on his mead-sop, but looked around with those bright green eyes. “We’ll pay the bill,” Odin explained, “and then we have a walk before arriving home. But we should get there tonight, with luck.”

Downstairs, the housemistress took his coins. “Didn’t think you arrived with a child.”

“I didn’t,” said Odin. “’Tis an old comrade’s child. I’d been looking for him.”

“Yeah, he don’t look much like you.  Good luck to you both!”

 

The guard post at the Rainbow Bridge was manned, of course, and Odin had only to raise his hat for the guard to recognize the one-eyed king. Then came the long hike up the bridge (with its on-ramps from the other realms), and the shorter descent to the raised cliffs of Asgard. Home at last.

Heimdall himself manned the chamber on the Asgard end of the bridge.

“Welcome home, my Lord King. What success?”

Odin tossed back the side of his cloak. “No immediate success, I fear. But in the long run, perhaps…”

Heimdall and baby stared at each other.

“Is this one of yours?”

“Not by birth.” Odin smiled. “But see that the rumor spreads that he is.” He gave the baby a little jiggle. “Loki, this is Heimdall. He will help to protect you.”

“Loki?” asked Heimdall. “I seem to recall that name.”

“I needed to bind him with and old name, for the magic to hold. Still, few besides you should recognize it.”

“Then he is Jotunn.”

“Tell no-one. He will grow up to be a powerful mage; best that he’s on our side.”

“So you hope to succeed where your mother did not?”

“Where my father _did_ , thank you. And I have a secret weapon. Frigga.”

“Your lady wife has been waiting for you, my Lord. Shall I send word ahead?”

“No, I’ll surprise her. But if I may use your horse?”


	3. Frigga.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby needs a mom.

Frigga was sitting at her loom, with her women around her: Fulla, Sjofn and Gna. Odin motioned silently to Gna from the door, then told her: “Tell my Lady Wife I have a surprise for her. She will like it. Ask her to hold her hands ready on her lap and to close her eyes.”

“At once, my Lord.”

That done, he crept into the room, and laid his bright-eyed silent bundle on her lap. Odin knelt, holding his own hands ready in case the baby started to fall.

“You may open your eyes, my love.”

She did, then startled (Odin had expected that), then cooed. “A baby?”

“I thought you might like another; with less pain, this time.”

“Who is he?”

“The child of a veteran of the Jotunn Wars. That should be enough.”

“One of your Hounds?” Frigga raised one wary eyebrow.

“No, thank my ancestors.”

She looked, unwrapping and inspecting the child, laying a warm finger against his cheek and watching him smile. The child’s bright green eyes blinked. Frigga looked at her husband.

“Who is he, really?”

“Send your women away.”

“Sjofn, Fulla, Gna—please take your things and go.”

“Now. Who is he?”

Odin waved a hand, temporarily disguising his spell. The baby cooled and turned blue.

“Odin Borson, if you mean to feast on him, I am leaving now and will never see you again!”

“No! Wait, look. This is Loki. See his mage-lines? There are no grown mages to be had in tamed Jotunheim, but I found him in a Care Center. I could not leave Loki to his fate there.”

“You could leave the rest?”

“Not willingly. But we are starving too, Frigga, or will be soon. To shut the Center down would be to declare war; and no-one will go to war with our own People across the river. Not yet.”

“Hmm. I must mourn the other children, then.” Frigga looked down at Loki, then up again at Odin. “You have a plan. You always have a plan.”

“I _hope_ that you will agree to raise him, as our child. Again, see the mage-lines? He will grow to be a powerful magician. If you teach him your magic, and I teach him mine, perhaps he can end this eternal springtime.”

“Not yet. Not even soon.”

Odin sighed. “I know. But this is the best chance I see.” Bending over the baby, Odin kissed his wife.

Someone knocked at the door, called out. “My Lord? There are several urgent issues…”

Odin waved a hand, and Loki was again green-eyed and Asgard-pale.

“I know, Hermod! Give me a few minutes more with my wife, eh? I’ll meet you in the study behind the throne.”

“And you will tell Thor he has a brother?” Frigga asked. “Fortunately, I don’t think he is interested yet in where babies come from.”

“We could both tell him, after this meeting. In fact, we’ll tell the whole court at dinner. How is that?”

“All right. I'll talk to Thor.” Then a moment of doubt. “Odin, husband? I raised kittens and livestock when I was a girl, but I’ve never raised a Jotunn.”

“My mother raised Jotunns,” Odin said. “How hard can it be?”

“Vili and Ve. I remember your stories. But, still—they were older than you. How much do you know about their early lives?”

“I will have the library searched for any remains of my mother’s notes. One thing I do recall her saying: A Jotunn is not an inferior Asgardian. They just have different abilities and weaknesses than we do.”

“How different?” Frigga raised an eyebrow.

“Different magic, for one thing, else we would not need this one. But one important similarity”—the babe in Frigga’s arms, Odin gently rubbing his fine-haired head—“they respond to love.”

\--A/N: Sjofn, Fulla and Gna are all Frigga’s handmaidens and Norse goddesses, of whom little is known. Gna is the messenger goddess.


	4. Thor, Odin, Einar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby needs a family.

“They also need to eat.” Frigga rose, the babe in her arms. “I will be in the nursery. Welcome back, love.”

“And after this meeting, I will find you some of my mother’s journals,” Odin promised, and left.

 

Frigga walked to the nursery, shielding her bundle. Nanna was there, her husband’s oldest son’s wife, watching Balder’s young brother Thor in preparation for having children of her own.

“My lady?” asked Nanna.

“I have a new charge for you,” Frigga said. “But first, he must meet his brother.” And called, softly: “Thor?”

“Mama!” The blond boy, nearly four years old and still long-haired, rushed to her barefoot and wearing a loose tunic. His bright blue eyes echoed Odin’s single one; there was no mistaking who this brawny, confident child belonged to. Frigga loved him yet always felt fragile in his vicinity; thankfully, Nanna had the strength of character to keep him well-behaved. “Mama, you brought me something?”

“Yes, my brave, my bold Thor; your father and I have someone new for you to meet. This is your brother Loki.”

“Brother? Loki!” As Frigga unwrapped the child, Thor climbed up on the bench beside her, and kissed the baby. “He’s sweet!”

Nanna looked confused; Frigga said, “Odin had no milk with him, so fed the boy mead. I expect he’s hungry again.”

“We have some goat’s milk left,” said Nanna, and rose to fetch it.

“Thor, what do you say to your brother?”

“Hello…”

“’Hello, I am…’” she prompted.

“Hello, Loki, I am Thor. I am your big brother.”

“What are your duties as big brother?”

Thor looked into the baby’s face, his bright green eyes. “And I will always love you and protect you.”

“Now kiss him again, and let Nanna care for him.”

 

That night, there was a banquet celebrating Odin’s return. The High Table had been rearranged, sharp observers noted; while Odin sat with Thor on his right and Frigga on his left, as always, beyond Frigga sat Nanna then Balder (who usually sat next to Thor and Hermod, on the right; while Nanna stayed away from such things).

Einar, who _was_ sharp-eyed, sat next to Heimdall, whose eyes missed nothing. “Wonder what this is about, then.”

“I expect we will see,” said Heimdall.

And, once food had been delivered, praised, and consumed, Odin stood to address the group. “My friends. As many of you know, I have long been travelling in search of a mage who can ripen our spring into summer. Although you praise my talents along these lines, I confess I am not capable of ending the climate shift which first the Jotnar, then, in saving us, our allies the Vanir, have laid upon our land.

“And I found no mage in the nine realms both strong enough and wise enough to bring back the rest of the seasons.”

The audience was shocked. Heimdall could hear Einar’s quiet “My Lord…” in the forefront of the cries.

Odin, still standing, raised a hand and spoke over them all. “ _Yet_. I found no such mage _yet_. But I found someone who may suffice, if we can only be patient for twenty years or so.”

“We have not food for twenty years,” Hermod announced.

“Then we must be craftier, or willing to borrow from our friends. Perhaps the time can be shortened; but wait we must.”

Again Hermod: “But why, Lord?”

And from Balder, on the other side of the table. “Yes, my King, why?” As others asked as well…

“Silence! I said I have found a solution. I found one mage in Jotunheim who will suit us, _one day_. He is too young now, but he promises to be stronger than I, or than any mage who has ever set foot in Asgard. Frigga?”

Frigga stood with a calm face, and a veiled bundle.

“Show him, Frigga,” Odin said; and she held up, uncovered, the dark-haired baby boy. Odin said, “This is our new son, Loki. He is rich in magic. Let him grow up among us, love him as you love the rest of my family, help us to teach him all he needs to know; and once grown he may lift this curse.”

“May?” That was Einar, shouting.

“He’s my brother!” That was Thor, high-pitched and loud, shouting back. “He’ll fix things! Of course he will!”

“Where did this brother come from?” yelled Einar.

Odin left the high table and walked toward him. “Einar Sigurdson. You are my kinsman, from my home village. Who do you speak for?”

“There are other resources in Jotunheim! We can take those!”

“No,” said Odin, “we shall stay on the peace-road for now. There is no need to start another war, especially against our own kinfolk who have gone to rebuild Jotunheim. We do not need two Realms destroyed. Not again.”

Einar huffed through his nose. More quietly, he said, “You did not answer my question.”

“I found him in Jotunheim, the son of an old comrade there. Have you more questions? No? Then fare you well, cousin.”

Einar stood, left; after the slightest of nods from Odin, Heimdall went with him.

 

“A likely story,” Einar said. They were outside the hall, now, and out of hearing of the guards.

“What do you think, then?” asked Heimdall. “I do not read minds.”

“Odin was gone for many months. Did not his search _start_ in Jotunheim?”

Heimdall hummed, not committing himself.

“I'd wager the boy is another one of Odin’s bastards, like Hermod or Balder. He must have found some Jotunn hedge-witch.”

“Frigga accepts the boy,” Heimdall pointed out.

“Would she want another hard birth such as Thor’s was? _Of course_ she accepts the boy.”

“Hmmm,” said Heimdall. “I must return to my task. Good evening to you and yours.”

“And to you and your sister!”

With that, the two parted company, and went their separate ways.


	5. Loki, Thor, friends, family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A child needs a community.

Thor was thrilled, of course. He had a wooden sword, a hobby-horse on skids that he could still ride, and any number of toys; but he needed a purpose to his play. A helpless child to protect (Loki), a king to protect (Loki), a damsel in distress (also Loki), even a dragon to fight (Loki, again); this brother would be an excellent aide in his self-made dramas. Frigga encouraged some of these scenarios with a laugh, and tried to instill Thor with her most important message: _You are his big brother. Protect Loki._

 

When Thor was seven, his formal education began: mornings in a school room with a dozen or so children of the same age, afternoons spent in early athletic training, then release into free activities until dark. He and Loki were inseparable, so Loki tagged along to his lessons (and picked up learning faster than anyone else), to his training (“Here, Prince, stay in the shade; you are not old enough for some of these moves yet” from Tyr, the weapons-master. Thor had a wooden sword, bigger every few months, but Loki must be kept amused with knives), to their afternoon adventures. Thor made new friends at school, including Volstagg Einarson, Fandral the kitchenboy (“But my father’s a Lord!”), and Sif Waves-Daughter, Heimdall’s young sister.

 

The two children came home from school one day; the teacher had been explaining where the various folk of the nine realms came from. They teased each other over dinner, until Frigga asked,

“So what is so funny, say?”

Elbows back and forth. Finally Thor said, “we learned how all the folk were made. Dwarves were maggots!”

“You shouldn’t tease any with that.” She sighed. “Besides, many beautiful and productive insects have babies who look like maggots.”

Odin looked at her, said in aside, “Let me handle this.” And to the children: “Loki, Thor: who a person becomes is not determined by who his ancestors were. Many brave fighters and skilled craftsman have been dwarves. Think of them, not maggots.”

Two solemn nods, then more giggling. “What now?” asked Odin.

Thor said, “The humans. They think they came from _monkeys_.”

“Well, monkeys are also clever, so perhaps…”

Loki spoke up. “The teacher said you could tell us the _real_ story.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Two more nods. “Would you like to hear the story?”

“Yes, please.”

“ _After_ dinner,” said one parent; and the other: “Finish your vegetables first.”

 

“Once upon a time,” Odin started.

“Were there humans then?” Loki interrupted.

“Hush and listen. My mother, Bestla, raised Jotuns. Two of them looked over me when I was small, and became my constant companions. Vili and Ve. With them by my side, my mother would let me wander anywhere I wished, far from our village or not. One hot summer day we came to the Ifing River.”

“The border river?”

“Yes. There was no Bifrost then, no mighty bridge; that came later. Just a river shore in late spring flood, with driftwood along the near bank, and the far bank invisible in the mist. We found a log of ash with a hollow divot in it; and some elm twigs we could use to drill holes in the punky wood. We left the twigs in the drill-holes and dressed them with green and brown leaves. Thus we had turned the log into a ship, and the twigs into raiders.”

“Oh!” said Thor. Loki was wrinkling his brow, trying to visualize.

“But we were not done.”

“No?”

“No, raiders needed to be alive, after all. So I blew softly on each one, and gave them souls. Then Ve breathed on them and gave them senses and genders: the men in brown tunics, the women in green kirtles. Finally, Vili blew on them and gave them to understand that we were their gods. The little raiders gave us praise, and we wished them well on their journey. Then we helped them push the log into the river. They landed far away, downstream in Midgard. _Those_ are the ancestors of the humans, not monkeys.”

“You were children at play?” That was Loki, again, trying to make sense of things.

“No; you misunderstand. We were, and are, their gods. Do not forget this.”

“Yes, father,” said Loki, humbly; the two kissed their father, and went to bed.

 

In their beds, that night:

Thor asked, “Do you think we could do that? Make a new folk?”

But Loki said, “There is less magic in the world now, I think. Or else winter would come.”

“Summer first!”

“Alright,” he laughed. “Someday when I control the weather, I’ll make summer before winter.”


	6. A child needs companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki grow in different directions

When Thor was ten, the botanist Ewen Strongarm from Vanaheim came into the city, bringing with him seeds of rare Vanir grasses that would blossom and bolt in the spring, making more seeds that could be ground into bread, delaying the onset of starvation for the People.  He brought his son, Hogun Strongarm; and he brought a Vanir fever with him that most children snuffled through for a day or so, then got well. Thor and his comrades promptly adopted Hogun into their troop of child-adventurers. Loki agreed to help Hogun with his schoolwork, so that he could learn with his friends. And Loki caught the Vanir fever, and did not get better.

Finally Frigga called Eir, the healer, to the palace. Eir looked, and listened, and collected effluents; then gave her pronouncement. “Someone must have not cleaned their muddy boots. It is a mild Vanir ague, and most Asgardian children get it but once.”

Frigga looked at Odin, then back to Eir. “What of other races? Say, people who are part Jotun?”

“Oh, it takes the Jotunns very hard. I remember reading your mother’s notes, Odin.”

Odin said, “I believe I caught this ague on my first trip to Vanaheim. I had it harder than most, and the healers there prepared a draught for me that helped immensely. Mother said that my Jotunn companions must have rubbed off on me.”

“You must know that Loki came from Jotunheim,” Frigga said. “He is certainly part Jotunn.”

“Let me see if I can re-create your draught, then, King. In the meantime, he can certainly see his companions, if he has the energy. They will not get him sicker.”

It still took some weeks for Loki to heal. Thor brought assignments and read to him; Hogun brought problems to solve (and apologies for getting him sick); Loki read to Hogun. Fandral, Volstagg and Sif came a few times in a clump, to play with his toys and tell him the school gossip. Loki grew pale, and, on recovery, never again tanned in the sun. (At least he still enjoyed its warmth on his cool skin.)

 

When Thor was twelve, his schooling extended into the afternoon, when he was required to attend royal council sessions. Thor’s other companions—Volstagg, Fandral, Sif, Hogun—were not permitted to attend, although Loki could not be held away from these meetings. Loki insisted on participating—loudly—if he disagreed with the direction any deliberations were taking, so various of Frigga’s handmaidens took to attending as well. Gna was the best at transmitting Loki’s concerns to his mother; Fulla was the best at shutting him up. “Listen twice, talk once,” she told the smaller prince. “Someone else may bring up your concern, so that you don’t have to.”

Loki was returning from a taxation meeting, about a month after the brothers started attending them, when Sjofn asked him to visit his mother instead of fetching his hunting gear with Thor, who had an expedition planned with his friends.

“Just me?”

“You can catch up with your brother later, Prince.”

That was satisfactory. Loki walked ahead of her into the room, and found his father there as well.

“Loki?” Odin asked. “Do you know why you are here?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ve received reports from the various councils, as well as your mother’s associates. I’m concerned about your education.”

“Have I been too loud? I’m sorry, Father, it’s just…sometimes they are stupid.”

“Loki.” Odin knelt before the boy, lifted his chin so they could see each other eye-to-eye. “I know it is boring. I never meant for you to be frustrated, this young. Are you satisfied with the library?”

“Yes, sir.” That was another thing. Thor could tire himself out, with training and practice and play; but Loki’s mind didn’t stop at night. (Also, Thor _snored_.) A sheepskin-covered chair in the library, near the fire and with plentiful candles, was his usual roost after dinner until Odin or Frigga called a servant to take the sleepy boy to his bed.

“Well. You know that the people have great hopes of you. So do I. So does Frigga. When you can keep a secret, the next stage of your education can begin.”

“The next stage? You mean there’s more?”

“A whole field of endeavor awaits you. Magic.”

“Magic?” Even the word was a siren song. “What about Thor? Can he learn with me?”

“No, Loki.” Frigga sighed. “Thor has a good mind, a good heart, and great enthusiasm, but he hasn’t a magical bone in his body. He is blind and deaf to such things.”

“Why?”

“Everyone is different. Thor has no magic, but you will have enough for both of you. More than enough.”

“When can I start, then? How?”

Odin chuckled. “Let’s start with a little test.” He held out his hand. “How many fingers do I have?”

“Um, five? No, four. No. Six??”

A wave, and the hand was back to five fingers. “Good, you can see my illusions. Now, I am going to turn Thor’s nose purple for a week. Only you will be able to see it. If you can go the whole week without telling Thor or anyone else, or indicating in any way, even by laughing or smiling, that something is amiss with his appearance, then you will be ready to learn more.”


	7. Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A child needs a sense of humor.

Thor had a purple nose. Not just the tip of it, but the flare above each nostril and all the way to the space between his eyes was bright, royal purple.

“How was your day?” Loki said, trying to look at Thor’s eyebrows and not the purple blotch beneath them.

“It was good. We walked a ways north, and Fandral found a flower I’d never seen before. Perhaps you could have identified it, Loki.  But still…do you think this means summer is coming?”

“Not likely, if the flower was in the north.”

“You are right,” said Thor. “I would expect summer to come from the southern direction.”

“Or from the west,” Loki pointed out. “Away from Jotunheim.”

“Fandral said the flower had a pleasant smell. He sniffed deep and got a faceful of pollen! Then he tried to get me to sniff it.”

“Well?” _Please don’t ask me to inspect your nose_.

“I sneezed. Do you think I might be allergic?” Rubbing his nose, Thor’s fingers left white trails across the purple surface, which slowly faded back to purple.

Loki crossed his eyes, but said nothing.

 

The next day was all right; Loki grew used to seeing purple-nosed Thor and could ignore it. On the third day, however, Thor’s purple nose broke out in green spots; the spots bulged on day four, and on the fifth day erupted in pink flowers. On day six, a baby snake rose from each bloom; they waved in front of Thor’s face, and he complained of cloudy vision.

“Loki, can you check my eyes? I must have something in them. Everything is a blur.”

“Lie down on the couch.” Loki came close. The little snakes curled into striking position and hissed at him, showing their tiny fangs. Loki carefully lifted open Thor’s eyelids, and looked in each eye. Nothing. “Follow my hand with your eyes. Is your vision blurry everywhere?”

Loki waved, Thor looked. “Maybe it’s worse on the bottom. Can you wave closer?”

_This was going to hurt_. Loki ran a fingertip in from the edge of Thor’s face toward one eye, along the lower lash-line. “There! It’s cloudy there!” A snake reached out and grabbed onto Loki’s finger; Loki pulled back. “What is it? Did you see something?”

“No,” said Loki. “I was afraid of getting too close and hurting your eye. Let me try again.” Again a finger along the lash-line (closer this time), and all the way to Thor’s nose. Loki didn’t dare breathe. Half a dozen little snakes latched onto Loki’s finger and held on, pulled out of their flowery home.

“You’re making it better,” Thor said. “Now do the other eye.”

Deep breath. “Of course.” Another pass, this time with the other hand, and Loki had two fingers covered in wiggling, biting snakelets. He sighed.

“Brother! Whatever you did, you cured me!” And jumped up.

Loki stilled from trying to wipe the little snakes onto his pants. “Don’t tell Father.”

“Why not?”

_He won’t let me learn magic_. “That you caught an allergy from Fandral’s flower? He may not let you travel north again.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

 

The next day, Thor’s nose was covered in tiny mewing kittens. Tiny _purple_ mewing kittens. Loki just sighed when he saw him (kittens have teeth and claws, after all), and tried to avoid Thor for the rest of the day. The was no escaping dinner, however; Odin at the head of the table, Frigga on his left, and his two sons, Thor and then Loki, on his right.

“Loki?” Odin asked.

Thor turned his head, and the kittens loudly wailed in Loki’s ear. Odin was still talking.

“LOKI?” Odin roared. The kittens shut up. “I said, how was your day?”

“Oh. Your pardon, Father; I was lost in thought. Today was uneventful.” A kitten took a swipe at Loki’s own nose, and he didn’t even blink.

“Thor.” Who turned to face his interrogator. Good, no more kitten attacks.

“Father?”

“You must have been very active today. You’ve inhaled your dinner. There’s even some on your nose.”

“There is?” Thor rubbed his nose, wiping away illusory kittens that he gave no sign of noticing. When he turned back to Loki, his nose was back to normal.

“I think you missed a spot,” Loki said. And grinned.

“I did?”

Frigga said, “Loki. Come see me after dinner.”

“Yes, Mother.”


End file.
